January - Not the Greatest New Year

January came and went, and for once, time seemed to drag. Apart from political and COVID misery, the month opened with gray, chilly weather, powdery mildew, and an episode of red tide. Not a great start for a happy new year. 

 Powdery mildew first appears as white, somewhat circular splotches on the top sides of leaves. It looks a little like they have been sprinkled with flour or talc. Yellowing, browning, and death of the leaf may follow.  Powdery mildew, a true fungus, flourishes with  cool nights combined with high humidity and warm days. This time of year we tend to have heavy dewfall, and even fog. If I were growing vegetables this year, I most likely also would be dealing with downy mildew, a socalled "water mold," which likes the same conditions. 

Since crowding, combined with shade and moisture, makes powdery mildew worse, it showed up mainly on large clumps of dune sunflower, Helianthus debilis growing around  some palms and  large shrubs in the front yard, and on the near-prostrate rosettes of Elliott's aster.

I am letting the Elliott's aster deal with the mildew on its own. The rosettes collect moisture every night and early morning. I probably couldn't get it completely eradicated even with a regular spray schedule, and since I avoid pesticides, I'm not spraying it at all. Since this is a recurring event, I expect the asters to grow out of the problem once the drying winds and sunnier days of March roll in.

Powdery Mildew on Elliott's Aster

I pretty much got rid of the mildew on the dune sunflowers by drastic pruning, even removal of entire clumps.

 Left to itself in a garden situation, dune sunflower forms large, mounding clumps, often with dead, decaying, or whitefly-infested branches hidden underneath. Keeping them nice and somewhat contained requires periodic pruning, even cutting back to the ground. The ones I removed didn't have these problems yet. Salt spray and wind keep the plants smaller in their dune habitat. 

The back yard is subject to pitiless sun most of the day,  so powdery mildew rarely pops up there. It was time to do hard pruning of the sunflowers there anyway, just to tidy things up, and remove dead branches. I like to leave "islands" of it so that what snakes and reptiles we still have can move around with some cover. The great egret in particular is a voracious predator of anoles and skinks, and I once saw a hawk pluck a corn snake from the front yard. 

There are 3 subspecies of Helianthus debilis in Florida. My plants, originally obtained from native plant sales, are predominantly the east coast dune sunflower, Helianthus debilis subsp. debilis. The species hasn't been vouchered in Collier County, but I have seen it growing on the dunes. Since walking on the dunes is a serious no-no because it is so destructive,  I can't say for sure what subspecies they are. The plants in our yard are both mounding and somewhat vining. They root easily at the nodes. The leaves are roughly triangular, and shaped like arrowheads with a large base. They have a sandpapery texture. The petioles are long, and the leaf margins vary from entire to noticeably toothed. The stems range in color from green to maroon, and are also somewhat rough to the touch. The sinuous quality of the stems makes the plant fun to draw. 

Helianthus debilis Stem with Opening Head

Flower heads are an intense yellow. Just before the sun sets, they can take on a slightly luminous quality.  The plants are evergreen here, and bloom all year. Butterflies and moths visit them, though they are not favorite nectar  plants. A variety of bees, wasps, and other small pollinators are more common visitors in our yard. Mourning doves like to shelter under them, and no doubt eat the seeds.

Dune Sunflower Habit

Apart from its eagerness to overrun the entire yard, Helianthus debilis is a great garden plant. Its colorful blooms and  bright foliage enliven the yard. Like Gaillardia, a clump of dune sunflower just cheers up the scene. Its semi-vining stems will cascade prettily over the sides of a large pot. The hidden branches of a large, old clump become infested with whitefly and mealy bugs over time. Otherwise I haven't noticed any insect problems, and no disease troubles other than the seasonal mildew. The plant is extremely drought tolerant. I never water it unless it is in a pot.

Helianthus debilis

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Officials like to say that red tide is a natural phenomenon. They're right - to an extent. These algal blooms can be caused by an upwelling of nutrients from the ocean floor, triggered by large storms, temperature swings, changes in salinity, and so forth. They normally occur here when the weather is warm - from August to November. 

But red tides have become more persistent in the past 5 or so years, exacerbated by humans. The period from the summer of 2016 through the winter of 2019 was particularly disastrous for southern Florida. Heavy rains forced the Army Corps of Engineers to make record-breaking discharages of fresh water from Lake Okeechobee. The fact that the earthen levee around Okeechobee is obsolete and can't stand the pressure of elevated water levels has been known for decades, but the political will to do anything about it has been lacking. Fresh water itself is a pollutant in brackish and saline ecosystems. Discharges from the lake weren't only fresh water, but fresh fertilizer-laden water. 

Lake Okechobee feeds the Caloosahatchee River on the west coast, and the St. Lucie river on Florida's east coast. Discharges to the west contributed to an existing red tide in the Gulf. "Our" red tide here on the southern Gulf coast is caused by a population explosion of a dinoflagellate called Karenia brevis. Karenia brevis can't survive in fresh water, but while the west coast was coping with beaches strewn with dead fish and marine mammals, and more, the east coast sustained equally disastrous consequences due to a nutrient-fed bloom of blue-green algae. Some places, like Sanibel Island, near the mouth of the Caloosahatchee,  got the worst of both worlds. Sanibel even had to deal with a 21-26 foot-long dead whale shark that washed up on one of its beaches. (Reports on the size differ). Florida lost numerous dolphins, sea turtles, and approximately 13% of the manatee population. 

Lake Okechobee feeds the Caloosahatchee River on the west coast, and the St. Lucie river on Florida's east coast. Discharges to the west contributed to an existing red tide in the Gulf. "Our" red tide here on the southern Gulf coast is caused by a population explosion of a dinoflagellate called Karenia brevis. Karenia brevis can't survive in fresh water, but while the west coast was coping with beaches strewn with dead fish, dead marine mammals, and more, the east coast sustained equally disasterous consequences due to a nutrient-fed bloom of blue-green algae. Some places, like Sanibel Island, near the mouth of the Caloosahatchee,  got the worst of both worlds. Sanibel even had to deal with a 21-26 foot-long dead whale shark. (Reports on the size differ). Florida lost numerous dolphins, sea turtles, and approximately 13% of the manatee population. 

The state sustained millions of dollars in lost tourist revenue as well as cleanup costs. Fisheries and related business such as marinas, fishing guides and boat rentals also suffered catastrophic losses. With no income tax, Florida depends heavily on tourism revenue and taxes, and the blow was bad enough finally to jolt some political actors awake. It's too bad that it takes a massive pocketbook issue like this to speed up significant corrective activity. One would think that degraded ecosystems and lowered quality of life would be enough.

Karenia brevis produces a neurotoxin that builds up in the food chain. Wind causes it to be aresolized, and many people living near the coast, including me, end up with real respiratory distress from red tides. Some people even need to be hospitalized. It's quite possible that it contributes to the deaths of marine mammals and sea turtles, which all breathe air. This January hundreds of dead fighting conchs washed up on one Marco Island Beach. If you think dead fish smell bad, wait until you get a whiff of rotting mollusks! Our canal turned a nasty reddish-brown color, and the fish, first catfish and mullet, started floating belly-up. 

Red Tide in Our Canal

After a few weeks' absence, red tide is back in the region, if not in our own backyard. The bloom gets blown or carried out by tides into the Gulf. When we get westerly winds it blows back in. This time around it is affecting fish-eating birds such as royal terns, cormorants and pelicans, along with fish, mollusks and sea turtles.

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The cooler weather this fall and winter has given us a bit of seasonal color. Some years the Virginia Creeper stays mostly green, but this year my neighbor's vine, creeping through the slats in our fence, sported lovely reds and violets. It's a pretty vine, even green, but it is too rapacious for most landscapes - especially small ones. Her yard crew pulled it out shortly after I made my sketch, but it will pop up again. 

Virginia Creeper - Parthenocissus quinquefolia

In the meantime, dune sunflower, other seasonal flowers, and visits by migratory birds keep the gloom and doom away. I even saw a leucistic grackle, something I'd never heard about before. The feathers on its head were startling white. I haven't seen it since.

Corkystem Passionvine

 Corkystem passionflower (Passiflora suberosa L.) is a mainstay of my butterfly garden. I just wish it would grow where I want it instead of collaborating with the birds to migrate to places where it is a pest. So far it has resisted my attempts to train it up a trellis or fence, yet it scrambles exuberantly in, around, through, and over shrubs and trees. If it has nowhere to climb, it spreads happily over the ground, especially where I have planted native heliotropium (Heliotropium polyphyllum). I could leave it as a ground cover, but since it is a vine, it presents a tripping hazard. I have a lot of digging out and potting up ahead, because I need to save at least some of the volunteers.

The genus Passiflora is the larval host for the zebra longwing, julia longwing, and much under-appreciated Gulf fritillary. The striking, orange Julias are uncommon in our garden. They tend to show up in a bunch and then disappear for years. We sometimes get zebra longwings, but they really prefer a shadier habitat than our yard offers. Zebra longwings roost in long chains at night, and the sight of such chains is absolutely breathtaking. The zebra longwing is Florida's state butterfly.

Gulf Fritillary Caterpillars on Passiflora suberosa

Zebra Longwing Caterpillar
Unripe Passiflora berries
Collier-Seminole State Park 

The beauty of a Gulf fritillary is hard to capture in paint or with my  very basic camera equipment. A newly-emerged adult gleams bright copper-orange, like the proberbial new penny. The undersides of the wings have a pattern of iridiscent silvery patches which reflect light spectacularly and brilliantly. 

The scanner cannot capture the silvery flash of the underwings.
These are dead individuals I have collected from the yard.

Passiflora suberosa is one of 7 species of passionflower native to Florida, but the purple passionflower, P. incarnata, is the only other one which occurs naturally in this area. Several exotic species, like the flamboyant scarlet passionflower ( P. coccinea) also flourish in the state. P. incarnata is a large vine, has a showy purple flower, and will get devoured by caterpillars. It dies back during our dry season.

"Maypop"  is another common name for P. incarnata. When I was a child we lived in South Carolina with my grandparents and unmarried aunt while my father served in the Korean War. I tagged along with my Aunt Iola, whom I called "Ant Ola." (I still pronounce "aunt" as "ant").

Even though I was afraid of the cows, who seemed awfully big, I liked accompanying my aunt when she took them out to pasture every morning. What I later realized was P. incarnata grew wildly in one spot. I asked her what they were, and she replied, "Maypops." When I asked her why, her answer was, "because they may pop and they may not." It is fascinating how certain little things can be preserved so vividly in our memories.

Zebra Longwing
Heliconius charitonius
Delnor-Wiggins Pass State Park

Corkystemmed passionflower is much more diminutive, and far less showy than its purple and red cousins. I agree with Rufino Osorio, who writes that while it first seems to have no obvious horticultural appeal, it's merits show themselves over time. The vine begins tender and green, and gradually adds ridges of corky material until it is enclosed completely.  Near the roots of an undisturbed vine the stem can reach a diameter of an inch or more, and certainly presents an interesting texture. 

Passiflora suberosa
Notice Corky Stem

The leaves have longish petioles and alternate around the stem. The surfaces are smooth, and the color varies from a yellowish green in bright sun to a more intense green in shade. The petioles have 2 raised "dots" opposite each other close to the base of the leaf. These are extrafloral nectaries. The plant  often displays "heterophylly," a fancy term for having leaves of different shapes. They can be simple and entire, or partially or deeply lobed. The presence of heterophylly in the plants in our yard varies, probably depending on what has been pollinated. Roger Hammer writes that lepidopterists surmise that the varying shape is a means to fool the butterflies so they don't lay as many eggs on the plant. The vine climbs and clings by tendrils emerging at the base of the leaves.

Heterophylly in Passiflora suberosa

The flower is small and delicate, about one-half to three-quarters inch in diameter. What look like petals, but really are sepals, are white or pale spring green. Pollinators of various sorts like them, because they produce a lot of berries throughout the year. The fruits start out green, turn blue, and then blue-black when ripe. Sometimes they have a chalky "bloom" like blueberries. They are roughly spherical and about a quarter-inch in diameter - about the size of a Spanish caper. They don't taste bad, but contain so many tiny seeds that they are mostly grit. Better leave them for the birds.

That brings us back to my struggle to keep the vine from eating the garden. The place it thrives most vigorously is all through and over a clump of bougainvilleas. The bougainvillea's vicious thorns and dense growth prevent me from getting at the passionvines' roots, and even if I did, the mockingbirds would reseed them promptly. They effectively cultivate the vine because they poop as they forage for the berries. The bougainvilleas aren't native, but they don't consume any resources beyond space and rainwater. The tiny white flowers nestled in the plant's hot-magenta-pink bracts attract a fair number of small pollinators, and the mess of bougainvillea branches and passiflora vines provides a prime nesting site for the mockingbirds. They have reared several successful broods there over the last few years. 

So it's a standoff. I can't beat it, so I settle for beating it back when it threatens, kudzu-like,  to suffocate the other plants. And I do like the butterflies.

Gulf Fritillary 
Agraulis vanillae
Nectaring on Blue Porterweed, Our Garden

 

Passiflora suberosa ranges from the Caribbean through Florida and the lower Rio Grande Valley, Mexico, and Central and South America. It has spread through much of the world, probably with the help of birds, and is considered an invasive exotic in serveral locales. It has a long history of use in folk medicine. It can withstand quite dry conditions if it has a little shade, but appreciates more water. It probably would not thrive in permanently soggy ground.

Sources:

Roger Hammer. Florida Keys Wildflowers. 2004. p. 127.

Rufino Osorio. A Gardener's Guide to Florida's Native Plants. 2001. pp. 290-91.

Richard Wunderlin. Guide to the Vascular Plants of Florida. 1998. pp. 443-444.

Fall Behind

 Looking out the dining-room window, my frequent perch, I see an abundance of color in the front yard. The bougainvillea has burst into another flush of bright magenta bracts, with their tiny, enclosed white flowers. Scarlet sage, Salvia coccinea, is blazing with impossibly red flowers. 

I tried to establish this plant unsuccessfully for years. A while back, though, one of my sisters gave me a pot of something else with a Salvia straggler, and it has spread itself throughout the back yard as well as in front. When it gets leggy and unsightly, which it does,  I either cut it back to the last green leaf, or just break off the now-brittle stems.

Scarlet Sage, Salvia coccinea

Blue-gray Eliott's love grass has peaked.Now it's drying, and its multiple seed-laden inflorescences are brittle enough to break off in the wind. They also like to work their way up your pant leg.  Pink muhly blooms later, and is also now past its prime. Its multitudinous inflorescences are somewhere between pink, purple and magenta. A clump of muhley grass by itself is a grand specimen, and it is really stunning in a mass planting, especially when there is just hint of breeze. Mounds of it billow and blow in a highway median a few miles away. 

Goldenrod, Solidago sp., has been blooming since June. Mine was a pass-along plant from a now-deceased friend in the local native plant society, who warned me, "once you have goldenrod, you'll always have goldenrod." Every time I root out another clump of suckers - goldenrod has expansionist tendencies - I remember Freda and her down-to-earth wit. Right now it is growing intermixed with a large, spreading mauve lantana, and the color combination works. I didn't plan it that way, but the goldenrod moved in on the lantana, and the 2 seem to coexist reasonably well, perhaps because the lantana stays low and the goldenrod reaches for the heights.

Florida has  19 species of goldenrod, and apart from the few that don't occur down here, I'll be damned if I can identify mine. I'm probably overthinking the process, but every time I think I am keying it out successfully I find a characteristic that nullifies it. Besides, I think they hybridize fairly promiscuously. 

"My" Goldenrod from Freda

Even though it blooms all summer here, goldenrod still seems to symbolize fall like pumpkins, asters, and fresh apples. Its numerous bright, saturated yellow-gold heads are intensely attractive to insects. Butterflies do use it in our yard, but they are far outnumbered by the wasps and bees that find it irresistible. 

In the photo above, a leaf cutter bee, Megachile sp., gathers pollen. The photo doesn't show it, but these medium-size bees collect pollen on their abdomen. I don't think the megachile in our yard is native, but I can't see that it does any harm. This species builds cylindrical egg champers in underground tunnels. It also will use holes for oarlocks and unused garden hoses. It cuts uniform oval shapes for the sides, and perfect circles to close off the egg chambers. Each compartment is about an inch long and a quarter-inch in diameter. The bee will make several chambers in each nest. It doesn't matter if the entry hole gets covered, either by shifting sand or waterborne debris. I extracted a cylinder once and kept it in a plastic dish at my workspace. All the cylinders produced an adult bee within minutes of one another. I liberated the bees after they hatched. 

Paper wasps, Polistes sp., also love the flowers. In my experience, most bees and wasps aren't particular aggressive when they are feeding. Once, though, a big bumblebee traveled from at least 6 feet away just to sting me, so I don't know what its problem was. This wasp is in no peril, but its perch reminds me of times I've had one foot on the dock and the other one on a boat that was inexorably moving away. (There is no end of entertainment watching boats come and go at a boat ramp or dock. As long as nothing tragic happens, you can laugh, but you have to remember that sooner or later it will be your turn to look stupid). 

Goldenrod flowers and leaves have been used medicinally for centuries. In fact, the genus name, Solidago, means something like "to heal or make whole." It also is a traditional dye plant. I can't speak for all species, but this one is extremely forgiving of sandy pseudo-soil and drought. Its tall spikes could be staked, but I sort of like to let it sprawl and flop. It gets beaten flat by a hard rain, but usually more or less recovers. 

Alas! All my wonderful color is in danger of being obscured by rampant weeds and overgrowth of natives I have allowed to self-sow. Now that the weather isn't quite as hot, I need to get busy  before Code Enforcement shows up. Cleaning up the yard will be a great antidote to stress from COVID and politics. The Presidential race seems decided, but the country remains as bitterly divided as ever. We all need to chill out a little and go plant something.

This post is woefully late. Sometimes life just happens. Eta scared us, but gave us a miss, though we had winds strong enough to flatten the goldenrod, coreopsis, and Elliott's asters. Most are now trying to straighten out, but I probably will have to cut the coreopsis back because its stems are so incredibly thin it's hard to imagine that they hold up a whole flower  head even in the best of circumstances.

I haven't figured out how to make links in the new Blogger format, but for more information you can refer to the posts listed below.

Native Grasses: "Yes, Florida Has Seasons." Nov.14, 2017.

Leaf  Cutter Bees: "Leaf Cutter Bees." Oct. 30, 2018.

Elliott's Aster: "Elliott's Aster." Jan. 23, 2019.

Simpson's Stopper

 Simpson's stopper, Myrcianthes fragrans, generally grows as a shrub or small tree up to 25 feet tall.  It is vary variable in form, and also can be pruned into any shape desired. It's formally pruned in many parking lot hedges, which is kind of too bad, since the constant whacking back vastly reduces flowering and fruiting. So even though many people in South Florida see it regularly, they don't notice it. On the other hand, the resulting dense growth produces a good nesting place for mockingbirds. 

 The Simpson's stopper in the front yard could be healthier, which is worrisome.  It's one of my very favorite plants, and it plays a vital ecological and esthetic role in our yard. Anchoring the front landscape design (such as it is), is not the least of its virtues. If it goes, it will leave a big hole. 

It started out as a multi-trunked containerized plant. I liked the outward spread of the trunks, so I left them. As it grew, I removed lower branches, partly because they were intruding on the path. The open, tiered canopy that developed is one of the plant's charms now. I just wish it were a bit fuller. "Limbing" it up also reveals the gorgeous bark, sometimes a perfectly smooth pale tan, as though it were sanded, and at other times turning reddish and peeling, a little like a crepe myrtle. The smooth bark phase is likely the source of one common name, "naked-wood."

Removing lower limbs also keeps the landscape more open and less-congested. It makes a nice screen between us and our neighbors to the left, but it isn't so dense that I can't see through it to their magnificent large Opuntias or the houses across the street.  No matter what your viewpoint is, you can see through and beyond the plant, so you are tempted to explore further. One of these days I am going to relocate one of my waterlilly pots so that birds can flit down for a drink or bath, and then retreat into the protective shade of the stopper.

The plant is evergreen, with opposite, mostly ovate leaves about 1 to 8 cm long,  and 1 to 4 cm wide. They are tough and leathery, with slightly underturned margins to reduce water loss. Depending on sun exposure, the leaves range from bright yellow-green to dark olive. The underside is a paler green. The leaves are covered with small glands, which appear as bumps on the upper side and as black or green dots on the underside.  I've never noticed any fragrance emanating from the leaves like it does from firs or spruces. Crushing the leaves, though, releases a fresh minty aroma something like eucalyptus oil. That's not surprising, since both are members of the Myrtle family, Myrtaceae.

In contrast with the leaves, the flowers really live up to their species epithet,  fragrans.  The plant blooms and fruits several times a year, depending on rainfall and temperature. When Simpson's stopper is in flower the air around it is filled with a spicy sweetness somewhere between the heavy, almost cloying odor of gardenias and the light, fleeting sweetness of citrus. When it is flowering I visit it several times a day, especially in late afternoon or early evening, just to breath deeply, as though I somehow could capture an olfactory  memory. Who needs mind-altering drugs when it is possible to wallow in pure sensation just by standing near a fragrant shrub and inhaling?

The all-white flowers grow in clusters on stalks that arise in the angle between leaf and stem. I think normally there are 5 tiny petals, though the one in my sketch above has 4. The numerous fine white stamens provide the main attraction, though. They practically obscure the petals, and a Simpson's stopper in full bloom looks like  the fairy godmother has waved her sparkle-trailing magic wand over it. The flowers are constantly humming with various pollinators, including beetles. Butterflies don't seem particularly fond of them, though. 

Flowers give way to rounded or somewhat pear-shaped fruits, often borne in pairs  - hence another common name, "twinberry stopper." They eventually reach a size somewhere between a blueberry and small olive, starting out green, then passing through yellow and orange stages before their final bright red. Mockingbirds gorge on the fruits, and if they happen to be frequenting the yard at the time, bluejays and cardinals also gobble the berries. The fruits are edible, somewhat sweet and not too dry, but for me leave an unpleasant bitter aftertaste. Volunteers pop up around the yard, evidence of the bird's activities. The plant also suckers, and probably could be propagated by severing them, too.

Apart from its other virtues, the Simpson's stopper functions as a kind of activity center in the yard. Even when they aren't feeding, birds like to perch on its branches. One July morning I made notes of what was going on around me while I sketched the fruits. I sat quietly enough that a mockingbird that had been flushed by my initial setup returned to the opposite side of the plant to continue eating. A shiny June beetle had its head stuck into a fruit, so intent on gorging that it let me manipulate foliage around it to make a photo. You can see a bit of my finger at the top of the photo.

Small bees and wasps buzzed amid the foliage and remaining flowers. Two other species of beetles were devouring fruits. Two strange insects that I couldn't ID were mating in the shrub's interior. A green darner dragonfly reconnoitered in search of prey or just patrolling its territory.  

I am wearing out the phrase, "superlative native plant," but that is because so many Florida native plants are, indeed, superlative. From its undemanding nature, repeated flowering and fruiting, glossy evergreen foliage, wildlife and landscaping value, Simpson's stopper certainly qualifies. It needs little water or fertilizer after it is established, and ours has survived major hurricanes Wilma and Irma with minimal damage. Though it gets pretty well defoliated by the salt-laden wind, it recovers quickly. 

It is named in honor of Charles Torrey Simpson (1846-1932), a noted South Florida plant explorer, snail expert, naturalist and nature writer. True stoppers are in the genus Eugenia, which also is in the Myrtle family. Simpson's stopper resembles them superficially, hence the most common common name.

August

This August has been something of a slog. And now we're already in the 3rd week of September! Medical procedures, mounds of paperwork, and heat indices into the 'teens have combined to keep me inside. Outside, things are occurring in the yard at a frantic pace. While spring ushers in a flurry of new growth in anticipation of rain, late summer shows a mad rush to grow and reproduce before the dry season begins.

There have been several waves of polydamas swallowtails after I blogged about them in July. In fact, a new adult was flying around last week. Predatory yellow jackets have been in evidence most, but not all, of the time. I don't know whether the butterflies hatched here or flew in from elsewhere. I've looked for chrysalids, but our badly overgrown yard offers a vast number of places to hide one. 

Our yard is home to many native plants. While they may struggle in their actual habitat, put them into a garden where they receive a modicum of care in somewhat amended soil, and they can run rampant. Mother Nature doesn't know a lot about sharing, and just about any plant that grows reasonably well here will try to take all the space. I try to scan all the bushels of vegetation I pull out or  prune back for evidence of caterpillars, cocoons or chrysalids, and baby tillandsias, but I'm sure I miss some.

 I  keep several water garden pots though I don't have any native waterlilies or lotus. The waterlilies bloom most of the time, which reminds me that I haven't even gotten around to fertilizing these heavy feeders yet. The lotus are mostly bloomed out by the end of July, and even beginning to go dormant by this time, but I had a few isolated late bloomers much to my delight.

                                                    Lotus, "Green Maiden"

Coral honeysuckle, Lonicera sempervirens, blooms most of the year here. It was in full flower in the middle of March. It may not make as impressive a show now, but the flowers haven't stopped. I couldn't get it established in Georgia, where it is native, but it flourishes here in sw Florida, which is south of its normal range.  It is a favorite of hummingbirds during their migrations to and from more southern climes, as well as many species of butterflies. Problem is, I've got it planted along a fence on the side of the house, so we miss most of what goes on with it. It is another proverbial "trouble-free" and "drought-tolerant" plant, and it also tolerates our flooding rains.

                                                Coral Honeysuckle

I finally got the bird pepper (Capsicum annuum, var. glabriusculum) that I bought way back in March  into a bigger pot. It was beginning to decline seriously before I did anything, but has responded beautifully to better circumstances. The birds weren't finding it where I put it, so I moved the pot to under a Simpson's Stopper (Myrcianthes fragrans), which is a favorite perching and foraging space for mockingbirds. Some of the fruits have disappeared, so something is eating them. 

This tiny pepper is a form of the ancestor of all our  peppers. It has a real bite, but the sting doesn't continue to linger and burn like many hot peppers. It's a great addition to all sorts of dishes, especially Tex-Mex and stir-fry. It's a  diminutive plant for starters, and its structure is so dense and compressed that it's hard for me to figure out just how things are arranged.

An invasion of Eurasian collared doves was an unwelcome event. Sadly, they discovered the Jamaica Caper, and literally shook the small tree with their clumsy weight as they stripped its fruits. The mockingbirds got some, but these aliens, imported years ago for hunting, probably got most. Our native mourning doves are delightful and coo melodically, but these boors have a call like "Raaaalf!" I always think of somebody barfing when the Eurasian collared doves are around.

The starry rosinweed (Silphium astericus) which I bought at the same time as the bird pepper, but planted right away, has outdone itself and already formed a second flowering clump. It has dark green, coarse leaves that can get 6 inches long or more, and the basal rosette is persistent. The erect, branched flowering stalks grow at least 18 inches tall. It has been blooming nonstop since late April/early May. I think I have the variety simpsonii, which occurs naturally along Florida's coastal plain, and is more tolerant of heat than some other forms. It will be interesting to see what it does once the rains stop. The butterflies and other pollinators were quick to discover it.  

                                        Starry Rosinweed

Elliott's aster (Aster elliotii) has produced its usual weedy-looking mass of skinny stems. I keep it because it is so stunning in full flower. Otherwise it is something of an eyesore, and since it spreads by rhizomes it will colonize any area that is even slightly moist. No illustration here - it is surprisingly difficult to draw or photograph a mess!

Last, but not least, one of my ponytail palms, Beaucarnia recurvata, bloomed. This one was a sort of gift from my late next door neighbor who didn't want it and suggested I take it. I have a problem letting things die ( one reason the yard is so overgrown - I don't pull out all the volunteers) so I took it. It was humming with honeybees and perhaps some other smaller pollinators.

This stem succulent has a very swollen base, and is not closely related to palms at all. It eventually will grow too large for this yard, but by then I will be long gone. Given the way old houses here are scraped away and replaced with narrow, 3-story mansionettes built all the way out to the setbacks, my tiny piece of semi-natural habitat will vanish too. It's a melancholy thought.

Florida Elephant's Foot

I've been remiss in keeping my nature notes this year. The first reference to Florida elephant's foot (Elephantopus elatus Bertol.) in our yard is a sketch done on July 30th, but it already had been blooming so long that I was afraid it was now or never in terms of drawing it. My notes from 2019 mention it around the end of June, which is not to say that it wasn't flowering before then. It's late August now, and the flowering is still going strong.

Florida Elephant's Foot - Individual Florets at Bottom Right

The foliage is much grayer and hairier than depicted.

Unspectacular, even slightly ungainly, Florida elephant's foot belongs to that class of plants delightful mainly to the observant eye, for it easily gets lost in a crowd. A flat rosette of coarse leaves wider at the tips than at their bases sends up grayish, wiry branching stalks which can reach up to 3 feet tall according to the books. Mine are closer to 18-24 inches. Each branchlet (in botany language a pedicel)  ends in a pyramidal structure composed of 3 overlapping bracts packed with individual disk florets. Florets are a delicate pale lavender-pink. The florets in any given head open  somewhat sequentially, not all at once, so the effect is subtle, hardly spectacular. 

Florida Elephant's Foot - Habit

                                                

The gray-green clusters and delicate florets seeming to hover untethered over lower-growing plants, or  among grasses, give the scene a wonderfully airy and ephemeral effect. My plant is being supported by the grassy leaves of spiderwort ( Tradescantia ohiensis). Spiderwort isn't native to this part of Florida, but does pretty well - in fact, too well at times. I will have to thin this batch to keep it from overshadowing and outcompeting the elephant's foot. I suppose elephant's foot would have to be staked in a more formal garden, but loosely, so as not to destroy its peculiar charm.

There are 4 species of Elephantopus native to Florida, but elatus, the "tall elephant's foot," is the only one that occurs in SW Florida. This species is found in throughout most of Florida and parts of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina. In Florida its status is "Threatened." It can take rather dry to reasonably moist situations, and is commonly found in pine flatwoods.The Florida Native Plant Society lists it as a "short-lived perennial." 

Though it is quite drought-hardy, and used to sandy soils, I find that the plant does better in our hot yard with a little moisture and shade. I don't need to water it in its present place where it gets runoff from the eaves and protection from the afternoon sun, but the ones I planted elsewhere, in full unabated sunlight, died out. 

A Head and Ray Florets
(I've rotated this photo several times and still can't figure out which end is up)

Over time, Florida elephant's foot will form clumps, like many plants in the Aster Family. It also grows from seed. In our yard it goes dormant in the dry season, disappearing entirely until the rains resume.

Though it works wonderfully blended with other plants, a large plot of Elephantopus alone in bloom is quite and quietly spectacular. When he was still in high school my much younger brother tilled up a section near the woods to grow corn. The raccoons got most of the corn, but there obviously was a dormant seedbank for elephant's foot, because it flourished in that spot thereafter. More than 40-50 years later, there are still scattered plants there in spite of repeated disturbance. In fact, the plant in our yard is a descendent of these north-Florida individuals.

Colony of Elephant's Foot  under Serenoa repens
Naples Preserve

Florida elephant's foot doesn't seem overly attractive to butterflies, but is very popular with wasps and bees. The photo below shows what I believe to be a spider wasp nectaring. Spider wasps paralyze spiders and inter them as food for their larvae. They can manipulate a spider far larger than they are themselves. Though they can sting, they usually aren't aggressive. This one didn't mind my getting up close. 

Florida elephant's foot is so named because from overhead, the outline of the basal rosette supposedly resembles the footprint of an elephant. That takes some imagination. For one thing, the elephant would have to have toes  all around its foot, not just in the front. 

A garden full of divas would be pretty jarring and incoherent. It needs a complement of modest and unassuming plants like Florida elephant's foot to furnish the backdrop so the stars can shine.

Polydamas Swallotail

The Polydamas Swallowtail, Battus polydamas, is named after both historical and mythological figures from Greek history. Battus I founded the colony of Cyrenaica and its capital Cyrene on the coast of present-day Libya around 630 BC. Impressive ruins are all that is left. 

Polydamas figures in the Illiad as an advisor and friend of Hector. Polydamas of Skotoussa, who won the Olympiad in 408 BC, was an athlete of prodigious strength. Some of his feats appear on Greek pottery. The subspecies that occurs in Florida is Battus polydamas lucayous. I haven't been able to find a reference for "lucayous." 

The polydamas is the only swallowtail in the U.S. that doesn't have tails. This butterfly is sometimes called the gold-rimmed swallowtail as well for the row of yellow patches on the edges of its wings. Their larval food are pipevines, species of Aristolochia. In our yard they feed on the exotic Giant Aristolochia, and this year pretty well denuded the massive vine.

One year, when I didn't have any caterpillars I "imported" a batch from a friend about 25 miles north of me whose polydamas larvae were on the point of starvation after completely stripping  her Aristolochia plants.

 (The pipevine swallowtail, which also feeds on Aristolochia species, looks quite different. It has short tails, and it's deep black wings are brushed with bright blue iridescence. It has creamy patches near the margins on the upper wings, and large, bright orange patches on the undersides. It does not make it quite as far south as Collier County).

The polydamas is a strong, vigorous flyer, with a rapid, almost "nervous" wingbeat. I never have seen one basking. Even when nectaring, they keep up their fluttering, and I wonder whether they may actually feed on the wing like hummingbirds now and then. The ones in our yard fly about 5-10 feet off the ground when patrolling, swooping down mainly to lay eggs or take a sip of nectar.

Polydamas Checking Out Pipevine
Notice Yellow-Jacket Patrolling lower left

This is the best year for polydamas swallowtails in our yard for a long time. The last few years a few adults have showed up, some even laying eggs. But predators seemed to clean out the caterpillars, and repeat appearances by adults were rare.

This year I noticed the first polydamas in early May, and they pretty much stayed with us through mid- July. After about a week of no sightings, I see a brand new adult as we near the end of the month. Some of the adults who emerge probably stay here, but timing of appearance suggests that I also have had some visits by newcomers.

 I have seen polydamas swallowtails here as early as late February and as late as mid-November. They range up to north-central Florida, but may stray farther north. A subspecies occurs in coastal south Texas. Otherwise, they inhabit the Bahamas, Carribean Islands, southern coastal Mexico, Central America, and south to Argentina in South America. There are many sub-species.

Polydamas Swallowtail

The above quick and dirty, and not neurotically accurate color pencil drawings were made from a battered dead specimen I picked up years ago. I'm  not at all happy with the brown undersides. I tried layering different colors, but still did not pick up the elusive, reflective warm brown/black coloration.

The female lays a cluster of orange-yellow eggs on tendrils and tender young leaves. At first the caterpillars stay close together. There must be some evolutionary advantage in this behavior, but it also makes them very vulnerable to predators. A wasp can wipe out a brood in a matter of minutes. When they get about 3/8 to 1/2 inches long they go their separate ways.

Ovipositing Female

Young caterpillars are orangish tan to brown, with many bristles. The older caterpillar looks like a fat brown slug with orange tubercules protruding from its body. The larvae absorb toxins from the aristolochia, so they are distasteful to birds and lizards. But nothing saves them from hornets.

Too many times, I have watched a yellow-jacket methodically hunting the larvae amid the leaves and devouring them one after the other. All that is left is a little puddle. I'm lucky if even one or two individuals in some broods make it to adulthood. I  have had 3 sets of egg-laying so far this years, and apart from the first brood, the yellow-jacket has been there every day looking for prey. I'm hoping it  missed one here and there, but a successful brood may depend on timing with the emergence of adult  wasps. I just don't know. The interrelationships in the natural world are so complex. And we may be getting a distorted view of it on our tiny 60x110-foot plot.

The caterpillars are sort of dumb, even for creatures that low on the intellectual ladder. I've seen more than one start eating the stem between it and the plant, and then plop down to the ground once it has severed the connection. It doesn't seem fatal, though.

Polydamas Caterpillar

One year I got fed up with the yellow-jacket's gluttony and brought several caterpillars onto the screened patio. I cut new Aristolochia leaves and stems for them faithfully, but something went terribly wrong. None were able to form a complete chrysalis, and one never got beyond the J-stage. I don't know whether I deprived my larvae of some vital nutrient by feeding them cuttings, or whether they contracted some kind of disease. Now, even though the predation distresses me, I just leave nature to take its course. Besides, the yellow-jacket feeds its larvae with liquified caterpillars, and there's a place for them, too.

Butterflies usually leave the host plant to pupate, but I have found a lot of chrysalides tucked in along the vine. They resemble twisted leaves, dead or alive - some are green and some are brown with orange markings. They are very "architectural," and remind me of miniature sets of armor. The brown chrysalis in the sketch below has been parasitized. The spot that looks like an eye is the hole from which the parasite emerged. The chrysalis may hang vertically or horizontally.

Polydamas adults are particularly fond of the weedy Madagascar Periwinkle(Catharanthus roseus) that has been in south Florida most likely for centuries. It flowers at the end of the stems, and doesn't start blooming before it is pretty tall. The stems quickly get 3 feet tall or more, and it takes no time at all for them to lose a lot of leaves along the way, and look leggy, scraggly and bare. That's when I cut them all the way back. By the way they show up in the yard, they produce plenty of viable seeds. I also have a pinkish-magenta form, which the polydamas likes too. The center of the white ones usually is dark rose-magenta, but also can be green-yellow. The center of the pink ones is a dark rose.

A member of the dogbane family, Apocnyaceae, Madagascar periwinkle is quite poisonous. It is a prime exhibit for the argument of preserving plants, for potent anti-cancer drugs have been developed from its sap. While it is a ubiquitous escape in Florida, it hasn't been classified as invasive. I hope it doesn't reach that status because many kinds of butterflies love it, and it provides clumps of cheerful, clear whites and pinks all through the year. It actually is endangered in Madagascar, its place of origin.

White Madagascar Periwinkles

When I was taking high school biology I laughed at the naivety - even stupidity - of the early theory of "spontaneous generation" to explain how animals originated. But when it comes to establishing a pollinator garden in the world of tidy, chemically-coddled suburban lawns, the possibility doesn't seem that far-fetched. Just plant some flowers, preferably natives, get some larval host plants established, and the butterflies, bees, flies and wasps show up. How they found and find me still seems pretty magical. Sadly, in the 26 years we've lived here, the sheer numbers and the number of species have declined, but I'm not giving up just yet.

Good Sources of Information:

Emmel & Kinney. Florida's Fabulous Butterflies. World Publications. 1997.

Gerberg & Arnett. Florida Butterflies. Natural Science Publications. 1989.

Glassberg, Minno & Calhoun. Butterflies Through Binoculars: Florida. Oxford University Press. 2000.

Hall. Polydamas. entnemdept.ufl.edu/creatures/bfly/polydamas. This article is particularly informative. I tried to create a link, but had no success. You can find the article just by searching "polydamas" and scrolling to it.

Minno & Minno. Florida Butterfly Gardening. University Press of Florida. 1999.